


The Dog Days Are Over

by srmarybadass



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Banter, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:47:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmarybadass/pseuds/srmarybadass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Lucrezia's wedding, a drunken Juan attempts to find his way back to his room. Along the way, he accidentally picks up the Prince of Naples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dog Days Are Over

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a prompt at borgiaskink, although it sort of deviated. Also, at some point, Juan/Alfonso became my utter OTP forever (that is, besides Cesare/Micheletto).

Juan was pretty sure his bedroom was around here somewhere.

 

He stumbled down the silent halls of the palace, head still warm and fuzzy from the fine wine at his sister’s wedding. The rest of him was rather chilly, the fires having long gone out and the formerly friendly young lady he had been with earlier in the evening had, by this point, given him the slip.

 

“Stupid wench,” he mumbled under his breath, clinging to the wall for support. “Who does she think I am, some-”

 

“She probably thinks what everyone else thinks,” came a nasally voice. “That you can’t hold a candle to your elder brother.”

 

Juan whirled around, lost his balance, and fell over, only to be caught by the surprisingly strong arms of the Prince of Naples.

 

“Alfonso,” he slurred slightly, looking up at the man. “I hate you.”

 

“The feeling is quite mutual,” Alfonso replied, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing out here alone? Shouldn’t you be off with some whores?”

 

“I can’t find them,” Juan said sullenly. “I can’t even find my room.”

 

Alfonso heaved a sigh. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” he muttered to himself, hefting one of Juan’s arms over his shoulders. “Come on, then. Move your feet.”

 

The fog in Juan’s head began to clear, slowly but surely. He stumbled only twice, and felt himself growing warmer and warmer, with Alfonso’s body pressed so close to his.

 

“Does this door look familiar?” Alfonso inquired.

 

Juan looked at it. He had seen a lot of doors in his time. There was a decent chance that this one was his. “Yes.”

 

Upon opening it, he discovered, joyously, that it was his bedroom.

 

Alfonso moved to deposit Juan on the bed, but the tipsy Borgia merely flopped down, taking his erstwhile caretaker with him.

 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Alfonso complained, sinking slowly down into the luxurious bed. “What is your mattress stuffed with? Clouds?”

 

Juan didn’t reply. Instead, like the world’s most ineffectual lion, he pounced on top of Alfonso, pinning his arms down and causing him to squish even further into the bed.

 

“You are very pretty, for a man,” Juan announced, pressing down with a hot and heavy weight.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Alfonso replied, using his wiry strength and advantageous sobriety to flip them over, so that he was the one crouching over Juan, looking much more like a dangerous wildcat.

 

“Little lion man,” Juan giggled, tilting his head up and – of all things – rubbing his nose against Alfonso’s.

 

“You’re like a child,” Alfonso began, when Juan silenced him with a decidedly adult kiss.

 

The prince of Naples grinned against the upstart Borgia’s lips, returning the kiss with a silky passion. Juan gasped as Alfonso nipped his lip sharply, the world becoming clearer and crisper around the edges. The taste of wine was almost out of his mouth and its effects were nearly cleared from his head. He rolled his hips upward, searching for friction, and was pleased when Alfonso responded with a moan. Alfonso relinquished his grip on Juan’s arms, which would have allowed the younger Borgia to reverse their positions and put himself on top – if he had wanted to, that is. As it was, all he did was wrap his arms around Alfonso, bringing him even closer, wrapping a leg around him wantonly.

 

“You are – wearing – far too many clothes,” Alfonso panted, attempting to remove Juan’s luxurious – and well-secured – doublet.

 

“I could say the same for you,” Juan replied, sitting up so fast that their heads nearly clonked together. He quickly wrested himself out of his shirts, ripping more than a few stitches in the process. By the time he managed to get the damn fabric over his head and off of himself, Alfonso was mostly undressed, fire in his eyes.

 

“Playing at soldiers really pays off, doesn’t it?” he asked rhetorically, leaning down to suck at the pulse point on Juan’s neck. Juan’s heart jack-rabbitted in reponse. He ran his hands over the prince’s sleek muscle and smooth skin, wanting to wrap himself around that gorgeous body. Alfonso, it seemed, had similar intentions.

 

“What do you want, little Borgia?” he mused, reaching down a hand to massage Juan’s rock-hard cock through his breeches.

 

“You,” Juan whispered honestly. “Nothing more.”

 

“Then I suppose, little Borgia, you must have me,” Alfonso grinned, shucking his own trousers. “Now, have you got any-”

 

Juan twisted and reached down under the mattress, pulling out a small container of expensive oil.

 

“Oh, this is nice, very nice,” Alfonso commented absentmindedly, pouring a quantity over his fingers and reaching down to spread Juan’s legs. “Only the best for the prince of the Vatican, I presume?”

 

“Why, does the prince of Naples only get the mediocre?” Juan joked, but the mirthful façade was broken by the delicate gasp as Alfonso slicked one well-oiled finger into him, trailing kissed down his neck.

 

Not that he would admit it to anyone, but privately, Alfonso thought Juan was his greatest conquest so far – and certainly the most beautiful.

 

“You don’t have to be gentle,” Juan complained. “I’m not made of glass.”

 

“Is that so?” Alfonso grinned and slipped another finger in, twisting harshly without warning. Juan howled, his hips jerking upward. “Do you prefer that?”

 

“Maybe I do,” Juan grinned through gritted teeth. “Maybe I-”

 

“Hush,” Alfonso ordered, silencing him with another kiss – tender this time, a soft counterpoint to his harshly working hands. Juan ran his hands up Alfonso’s back, filling his arms with warmth and finding a strong grip.

 

“Do it,” Juan muttered after several minutes of torture. “Please, just – just take me now.”

 

“Happy to oblige,” Alfonso smirked happily, slowly sliding his cock into Juan, who muffled his moans by biting onto Alfonso’s shoulder, hard. There would be marks in the morning. “There, there, little Spaniard. Just relax.”

 

“You are infuriating,” Juan announced, wrapping one leg around Alfonso, to draw him even deeper.

 

“I could say the same about you,” Alfonso replied, beginning to thrust in a rolling rhythm. He hissed as Juan raked his fingernails down his back.

 

“Faster,” Juan ordered. “I’m not some blushing maid-”

 

“I understood the first time you told me,” Alfonso interrupted. “I’d almost think you were compensating for something…that is, if I wasn’t seeing the evidence with my own eyes.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Juan groaned. His groan turned into sudden whimpers as Alfonso changed the angle of his hips to hit that one spot inside Juan that made his eyes roll back in his head.

 

“Ah, that’s it then, isn’t it, little Borgia?” Alfonso smiled. The sweetness in his face was an odd counterpart to the rough hammering of his hips, driving Juan – and himself – ever closer to the brink. He reached a hand down between them to grasp Juan’s aching cock, stroking it quickly.

 

“Yes – right – right there – please-” Juan gasped, breathing out a stream of babbling words, very few of which made any sense, before reaching up and capturing Alfonso’s lips in a kiss once more, this time passionately, as he came between them. Alfonso followed a moment later, resting his forehead against Juan’s as he caught his breath.

 

“You’re rather heavy,” Juan said after a blissful, silent minute.

 

“Well, you are far too skinny for a proper soldier,” Alfonso replied good-naturedly, grabbing a shirt to clean themselves off with. He made sure it was Juan’s shirt.

 

Juan rolled over. “You know, it gets rather drafty in here. At night.”

 

“Does it now?” Alfonso raised an eyebrow, even though Juan could not see it. “Perhaps I should stay then, and keep you warm.”

 

“Perhaps you should,” Juan murmured sleepily, relaxing completely when Alfonso wrapped an arm around him. And not that he would admit it to anyone, but having an armful of Borgia – particularly this warm, soft, slightly sticky Borgia – was a rather wonderful feeling.

 

Sleep came in a rush.

 

 

Morning came quickly, and with a brisk knocking at the door.

 

“Mmrrph?” Juan mumbled, opening his eyes and beginning to awaken. The person at the door did not wait, however, and instead opened it, sweeping in, already speaking.

 

“Juan, you must go to the prince of Naples, I need you to-” Pope Alexander VII stopped short, catching sight of his very naked son in bed, curled up contently in the arms of an equally naked Prince Alfonso of Naples.

 

“Father?” Juan asked sleepily. Behind him, Alfonso stirred.

 

“Son,” Rodrigo Borgia greeted awkwardly. “I see that you’ve, er, already started negotiating a treaty.”

 

Juan looked around. “Er. Yes.”

 

“Indeed. Well, good job then. Uh, carry on.” With that, the pope left the bedchamber, with significantly less sweep than he had entered with.

 

“Was that something to worry about?” Alfonso muttered into Juan’s shoulder.

 

“Not at all,” Juan replied, smiling. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“I can’t feel my arm.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You Borgias.”

 

The two drifted off to sleep once more as sunlight filtered gently through the window.


End file.
